


A Different Kind of Something

by gunslingaaahhh



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Grinding, Groping, M/M, Pre-Slash, grab-assing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:32:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunslingaaahhh/pseuds/gunslingaaahhh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is not nearly smooth as he'd like to believe he is. Danny is all too aware of this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Different Kind of Something

**Author's Note:**

> A fic for [](http://kitmerlot1213.livejournal.com/profile)[**kitmerlot1213**](http://kitmerlot1213.livejournal.com/), who bid on me in a  
> [fic auction](http://delicatale.livejournal.com/153246.html) hosted by [](http://delicatale.livejournal.com/profile)[**delicatale**](http://delicatale.livejournal.com/).

"I really cannot believe I let you talk me into this," Danny griped, tugging at his shirt sleeves. It was a short sleeve shirt, the fabric slick and thin and sort of uncomfortable because it was _nothing like_ his usual, professional attire. His pants weren't either, but at least those were something he'd actually already owned.

"Oh please, like the idea of hanging out with attractive tourists doesn't appeal to you," Steve replied, long legs taking him swiftly across the dark parking lot, neon lights reflected in the damp pavement. Frowning, Danny hurried along after him, already not in the mood.

It had come up in conversation the weekend before, when Danny and Grace had been over. Steve was grilling, as was customary, and had overheard Grace talking excitedly about her upcoming dance recital. She was doing jazz and hip-hop, and was showing Danny some of her routine. Steve was just about ready to divert her attention when he heard Danny say something that sounded a lot like correction, and before Steve could believe what was happening, Danny was _dancing_. Grace watched him before copying his movements, grinning. Danny applauded and told her she was perfectly ready, and the conversation moved along.

But Steve couldn't get the image out of his head. Sure, Steve knew he had a certain amount of grace -- extensive martial arts training did that to a person -- but that didn't necessarily mean he was graceful. He had his so-called ninja skills, and he'd picked up a bit of formal ballroom dancing and things like the fox trot from his mother when he was little, but beyond that he'd never really done anything that required having rhythm. What Danny had done with his feet had been, well, sort of magical. The sort of thing Steve probably couldn't do in his wildest dreams.

Of course, that few seconds wasn't enough, didn't give Steve the full breadth and scope of Danny's skills, so Steve decided they'd go to the sort of place where that was acceptable, where Danny could really dance. Or, well, Steve hoped. There was a niggling thought at the back of his mind that his being there might deter the shorter man, might give him stage fright or something. He didn't want Danny to be embarrassed to do something he so obviously enjoyed and was good at, just because Steve was watching.

"It's not the tourists I'm concerned about, Steven," Danny grumbled, bumping shoulders with Steve while they waited in line to get into the club. The music was loud, the bass thumping out into the street. One glance around told Steve this venue had been a good choice: the clientele was a good mix of people more their age, as opposed to the clubs overflowing with coeds and spring-breakers. These folks definitely liked to dance as well, all of them with healthy doses of self confidence. Steve hoped it would rub off on Danny.

"So, what, you're worried about me?" Steve asked, mock affronted. "Why, Daniel, what ever for?"

"You're hilarious. You're also up to something, don't even try to play like you aren't. I _know you_ ,remember?" Danny's eyes narrowed, arms folded across his chest. The shirt he was wearing -- something Cath had grabbed for Steve a few years ago -- was black and shiny, too tight across the shoulders and a few inches too long. It pulled ever tighter with Danny's movements, and a lesser man would've been concerned for the seams.

"I just thought it'd be fun to try something different, that's all. Don't you ever get sick of hanging in all the time?"

"Fun? What, did you just say _fun?_ Oh no, ok, we need to leave--"

Grinning, Steve gives a nod to the bouncer and takes Danny by the arm, effectively dragging him into the club. Any protests were drowned out by the pounding bass; lights flashed and bodies writhed, a DJ spinning records on top of a platform, bobbing to the beat as he surveyed his domain.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Danny shouted, free arm waving. "What about this says 'fun' to you, huh? Jesus, I can barely hear myself think."

Grinning, Steve steered them towards a booth at the back. There was a row of them against the wall, set up higher than the dance floor. It provided access to the bar without patrons having to worry about being jostled and spilling their drinks, and the height allowed those in the booth to watch the dance floor without being bumped.

"What's the matter, I thought you liked to dance!" Steve grinned, sitting in the booth.

"Huh?" Danny frowned, a V forming between his brows.

"I saw you, the other night, helping Grace with her routine. She has a recital coming up right?"

Despite the flashing lights and shadow of the room, Steve could clearly see the blush that crept up Danny's neck. "You saw that, huh? Hmm... yeah, I mean, when Rachel and I first got together, we'd go out dancing. She was more into salsa and the tango, but I'd grown up dancing in back alleys, beat-boxing over someone's boombox. Grace inherited her mother's love for music and my rhythm."

"I had no idea."

Grinning, Danny scratched at the back of his neck. "Yeah, it isn't something I usually advertise, y'know, 'detective with a penchant for dancing!', since you never know how people are gonna respond. My old precinct, a lot of those guys were guys I knew from the neighborhood or whatever, we all had similar tastes in music, so on the weekends sometimes we'd go out to a bar that had a dance floor. We'd even bring the wives, if they were up for it."

The wistful, far away look in Danny's eyes makes something ache in Steve's chest. Knowing that some part of Danny will always miss New Jersey is something Steve is working to come to terms with, though he doesn't necessarily like it. Reaching across the table, Steve grips Danny's forearm.

"We can do that here too, though, can't we? I mean, I'm pretty sure your moves haven't got shit on me, but--"

"Whoa whoa whoa, wait, excuse me? I'll have you know, Mr I-am-perfect-at-everything, that _my moves_ are pretty fucking spectacular," Danny said, indignant. "My moves are, in fact, _award winning_ , and you can just fuck right off if you don't believe me."

A barely suppressed snort makes its way out. "Award winning? Danno, I'm a man of action, you know that." The expression on Steve's face is smug, he knows it is, and he knows exactly what he's doing to provoke the other man, but he's far from caring.

A scowl firmly in place, Danny makes his way out of the booth and down onto the floor. This isn't the type of place where one makes requests, but Danny seems to know the music, anyway. Women -- and a few men -- gravitate towards him as he finds his rhythm, every movement perfectly insync. Mesmerized, Steve gapes, watching Danny shake his ass. He's good, he's _really_ good, and Steve is overwhelmed at the sheer depth of this man. There are so many incredible things Danny can do, and Steve understands then that yeah, he's a Navy SEAL and he's got skills, but what do his skills matter if the context is wrong? And really, as a civilian, generally speaking: the context is almost always wrong.

Danny has shimmied his way back over, a hand extended. "C'mon, princess, put your money where your mouth is."

Blinking, Steve leans away, hands raised in supplication. "Whoa, Danno, listen, you totally win. Your moves trump my moves."

"Nope, not good enough. You've seen mine, I wanna see yours," Danny says, shaking his head. Steve swallows thickly over the double connotation of those words, but allows himself to be dragged onto the dance floor.

Truthfully, Steve can't dance to save his life. Ballroom dancing and the foxtrot are in no way similar to the edgy, bass-infused hip hop music pulsing through the speakers, and Steve has no idea what to do with himself. Danny senses this, has a knowing grin on his face, and decides to take pity on Steve.

"Like this," he half-shouts, rocking from side to side, shifting his weight. Steve watches the other man's hips, clenching his jaw as he works to follow Danny's rhythm. Nodding in approval, Danny starts moving his feet as well as his hips, eyebrows raised as he waits for Steve to catch up.

Frowning, Steve moves until he's stepping side to side, following the bass. He can see a furrow forming in Danny's brow, knows he still looks pretty stiff and awkward, and suddenly wishes he could just disappear. No one around them is even paying any attention; they're still right next to the booths, and most of the attention is focused on the DJ.

Leaning in again, Danny says "didn't you ever go to dances in high school? Prom?"

Steve shakes his head, still trying to move in time with the music and not trip over his own feet.

"Oh lord, ok, you're gonna make me work for it, fine" Danny stops moving then, stepping forward and placing his hands on Steve's hips, forcing him to stop moving as well. The touch is weirdly intimate, and Steve can't help but gaze down at the contrast of Danny's hands against his dark jeans.

"Alright princess, I'm gonna tell you the same thing I used to tell my buddies when they'd ask me to teach 'em how to dance, are you ready?" Danny asks, still half-shouting. Steve nods dumbly, wondering what he has to do to keep Danny's hands on him like this.

"I'd tell them 'if you can fuck, you can dance.' Get it? You gotta establish a rhythm when you're fucking, just like you gotta establish a rhythm when you're dancing. The only difference here is that there's a bass-line for you to follow if you get lost. Watch," he shouts, before rolling his hips in a vaguely inappropriate fashion.

The first thought Steve has is 'ABORT ABORT', but then he remembers that DADT no longer exists, no one in the room but Danny is looking at him, and most everyone else is dancing the same way Danny is. Danny, who is watching him expectantly, waiting. Taking a deep breath, Steve closes his eyes and just lets himself _feel_ it, using the thumping of the bass as something to work against. He hears Danny shout something in the positive, and realizes that maybe he's doing it correctly.

Opening his eyes, he sees Danny grinning at him like an idiot, moving and dancing. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees a couple -- a man and a woman -- dancing dirty, the woman's skirt rucked up high and one of the man's thighs wedged tight between her legs. He turns back to Danny, sees a calculating look in the other man's eye, and before he can do anything Danny is grabbing his hips again.

"What're you--Danny!" Steve shouts, one of Danny's thighs pressed tight to his crotch, a pleasant tickle tingling in his spine as Danny moves against him.

"Just go with it! Move with me, you're too tall for me to do all the work," Danny calls back, one hand glued to Steve's hip, the other against his ribs.

Almost on auto-pilot, Steve does as he's told, moving with Danny, slowly but surely getting lost in the rhythm of the music and the lights. It's almost hypnotizing, and Steve just lets himself go, moving fluidly with Danny, who's hands seem to be roaming. All of the music sounds the same, and Steve barely registers a hand on his ass, jammed in his back pocket and holding him pressed tight. The other hand his found it's way beneath his shirt and is pressing into his skin, hot and slightly tacky from sweat.

There is a level of surprise, because this is Danny, after all, but Steve decides he isn't exactly that surprised. Things never would've gotten to this level if there wasn't _something_ there, so Steve moves his own hands to rest on Danny's hips, feeling the sharp intake of breath the other man makes in response. Danny is staring at him, eyes reflecting the blinking lights all around them, questioning.

Feeling heat creep up his neck, Steve adjusts his position so his crotch is more actually pressed to Danny's hip, so his erection -- which had made itself known almost the instant Danny had taken to the dance floor -- is pressed firmly against Danny's body.

"Wow," Danny says, eyes glazing a little.

"It's not just the dancing either," Steve rushes to tell him. "I mean, the dancing helps but, I doubt it'd be like this if it wasn't you... I hate dancing."

Grinning, Danny shakes his head, tightening his grip on Steve. "You better learn to not hate it pretty quick, because I plan on us doing quite a bit of dancing in the future."

Swiveling his hips just so, Steve smirks as Danny's eyes roll back in his head for a moment. "That so."

"Yeah, babe, I got so many more moves to teach you."

-FIN-  


 

 


End file.
